Surrender
by Cherie-24-Addict
Summary: Jack and Nina explore the idea of having a relationship. Will they be able to beat the odds? Special Author's Note and Apology inside, as well as details on what I'm planning on doing next with this story.
1. Moving Out

24: Surrender

Characters: Nina M, Jack B.

Genre: Romance/Drama

**24: Surrender**

_Chapter 1_

Yet another long day at the Counter Terrorist Unit in Los Angeles has finally come to an end. This has probably been the longest day of my working life; my partner (and boss) has been a complete ass, district management has been breathing down my back, and the betting pools are starting to get on my nerves. I'm sick of everyone assuming that since I'm friends with Jack Bauer, I therefore must be sleeping with him. That's not true, regardless of whether or not I want it to be…

Speaking of the devil, he's marching up the stairs towards his office at this very moment. He doesn't seem as pissed as he was before; he just seems tired, forlorn. Broken. I hate seeing him like this, hate feeling like there's nothing I can do to ease whatever pain he's going through right now.

My phone rings, and I pick it up, my mind blank. "CTU; this is Myers," I answer.

"Nina, it's Tony," a low, clear voice breathes. "You seem kinda distracted. Everything okay?"

"Uh, yeah," I reply quickly. "I'm fine, Tony."

"Do you know what's up with Jack?" he asks me. "Something's pissing him off, and he's not acting very professional."

"You're one to talk. Cut the crap and stop acting like you care about 'professional', Tony," I snap.

He looks across the bullpen and shoots me a confused, angry face.

"Because you know," I continue, "I could easily ask Lisa Tyler from forensics about your definition of professional…"

His face hardens, and his entire body stiffens. "No one was supposed to know about that," he whispers, a hint of panic filling his voice. It's not much, but it's just enough for me to take advantage of.

"Hey," I say nonchalantly. "Wasn't like I was snooping or anything. I happen to network in this community, and according to my sources, betting pools were running pretty high about how long it would take for that to happen."

He grunts something unintelligible under his breath, then says, "Why are you blackmailing me about this, Nina?"

I roll my eyes. "I'm not, Tony," I say patronizingly, like a mother would to her misbehaving son. "Look, I'll take care of whatever's going on with Jack. Can you hold down the fort until then?"

His eyes narrow, and for a second, I'm worried that he won't agree.

"Fine," he grumbles.

I barely contain the sigh of relief attempting to escape my throat. "Thanks," I say, only to realize that I'm speaking to a dial tone.

"Always knew I could count on you, Almeida…"

I tap on the door to Jack's office quickly, three times in succession. Like usual, I expect him to be opening the door for me within about five seconds. When, after a minute, the door is still blatantly closed in my face, I start to get worried.

"Jack?" I call. "It's Nina. Is everything okay?"

He doesn't answer, and a pit begins to form in my churning stomach. I take out my key to his office, shove it into the lock, and turn it to the left, my hands shaking violently. As the door opens and I walk into the sleek, modern Director's office, Jack practically jumps out of his seat.

"Nina," he says, startled. "What are you doing here?"

I'm surprised at the man sitting before me. Normally so vibrant, outgoing, and assertive, Jack seems about ten years older as he rests his chin on his right hand, his eyelids about to flutter shut.

"Just wanted to make sure you were okay," I say as calmly as I can, taking a seat on the dark green couch.

"Why wouldn't I be okay, Nina?" he asks harshly.

"I don't know," I reply coolly. "Why don't you tell me? I'm your partner; I'm not going to judge you."

Jack swivels around his chair to face me and looks into my eyes. God, it's like he knows just what he's doing to me – every time I see those blue-green eyes of his, I simply melt. They're not normal, though. They're brimming with tears, something that, when it comes to Jack, I've never seen before.

"Jack, you're starting to scare me," my voice cracks. "Tell me what's going on."

He sighs shakily. After a few moments, he opens his mouth and says slowly, "I moved out yesterday."

_What?_

"What do you mean, you moved out?" I ask. "Did something happen between you and Teri?"

Jack becomes fascinated with a dark brown coffee stain on the rug near my feet. "You remember that operation we had in San Diego?"

"Operation Daybreak? The undercover one from three months ago?" I ask. It was an extremely harsh mission; Jack's a stoic agent, but after he came back, I could sense something was wrong. Something still _is_ wrong, honestly.

In a low gravelly voice, he continues. "Since my…harsh experiences with that, things haven't exactly been great at home. Teri hasn't realized how much that mission affecting me." His voice cracks a little as he says, "She doesn't understand why I can't quit, either."

Oh, Jack. I can't help it, no matter how hard I try; my heart bleeds for him.

"So she kicked you out for becoming distant," I reply. It's not so much a question as a confirmation.

He nods his head slowly.

"What about Kim?" I ask, concerned. Kimberly is the apple of her father's eye; though I've never met her, he talks about his fifteen-year-old daughter so much that I feel like she's _my_ daughter.

Crap. I'm moving into a very, very bad place with those thoughts…

"She's not taking it well," he replies matter-of-factly. "She begged me to let her move in with her. You can guess what my response was."

"You shut out your own daughter?" I ask in disbelief.

"Her mother needs her," he replies stoically, "and I can't take Kim away from Teri like that."

"But what about what Kim wants? What about what you want? Don't you want to have Kim in your life, no matter what happens with Teri?" I argue.

"You think I haven't considered that? Damn it, Nina, I'm trying!" he yells.

There's a pregnant pause; it feels like there's a giant elephant in the room; his martyr complex. I tell him so.

Needless to say, he explodes.

As he throws expletives at me much like a terrorist would throw grenades, I tune what he's saying out, simply staring at him intently.

When he stops, I ask calmly, "Are you finished?"

He looks up at me, his jaw clenched. "I'm going home," he says abruptly, standing up from his chair and beginning to hurriedly shove files into his patent black briefcase. When he sees I'm still sitting on the couch, watching him with a concerned look on my face, his own face softens. "Go back to work, Nina," he says.

He sounds authoritative, but there's something else twisted in there. Is he being… _tender?_

"I'll be fine," he assures me as he stomps towards the door. I quickly leap in front of him, effectively blocking is way out.

"What the hell are you doing?" he says, his voice hardening.

I take a shaky breath. "There's no way I'm letting you drive alone, Jack," I reply. "You'll kill yourself in this state. Now, hand me your keys."

Jack looks like he wants to argue, but something in him seems to crumple. In a move unusual for him, he hands over the keys without any sort of threat or protest.

"Good," I say. "Let's go."

I place my hand gently on his shoulder, lingering just a few seconds longer than I should be. He doesn't seem to mind, though, as we walk down the stairs and through the bullpen. I notice Tony shoot both me and Jack daggers. We stop by his desk, and the party seems to get even more fun.

"What're you doing, Nina?" he asks.

"Jack needs a ride home," I say calmly.

"Why?" he presses.

"His car broke down," I say impatiently. "And Teri's working late. Now would you please excuse us?"

As Jack and I walk out the front doors, I wonder just how much I'll have to cover for him… and how much I'll be able to cover the odd warmth that flares up in my chest every time he's around.


	2. Moving On?

24: Surrender

Characters: Nina M, Jack B.

Genre: Drama/Romance

_Chapter 2_

As I unlock the door to Jack's Audi, I'm focused only on the thoughts scurrying around my brain. Not surprisingly, they're each fixated on the man sliding into the passenger's seat.

As I shut the door and fasten my seat belt, I look over at my boss and start to take in little tiny details that no one else would notice unless they were looking for it. For example, I smile at the zig-zag of his crooked part, the hairs slightly darker at the roots than on top. Obviously, he didn't have much time to look presentable this morning, but he still manages to have power over me, even when he's disheveled and completely breaking down.

I hear a faint mumbling coming from the other side of the car as we pull out of the parking lot.

"Sorry, can you repeat that?" I ask.

"Take a left turn onto Walker Road," Jack repeats with a patronizing tone that he usually only reserves for bureaucratic asses like George Mason and Ryan Chappelle. In response, I dramatically roll my eyes.

"Is there a problem, _Nina_?" he asks, obviously pissed.

"You tell me, _Jack_," I reply, equally miffed at the situation. "You've given me the 'Chappelle' tone."

I make the left onto the street he indicated to me and turn on the radio, looking for a decent station. As I start to look through the massive array of stations in the Los Angeles metropolitan area, Jack taps me once on the shoulder. I look at him expectantly.

"What do you mean, 'Chappelle' tone?" he asks me in a low, gravelly voice.

Oh, no. Things can only go downhill from here.

"You talk to Chappelle a certain way whenever he comes down from District," I begin to explain. "You use the same voice when you're dealing with Mason from Division."

"Is there supposed to be some kind of significance to that?" he replies, the beginnings of a glower appearing on his face.

I refuse to allow myself to be intimidated by him, no matter what. I understand there are multiple things leading to him being completely pissed off at the world right now, but at the same time, he's not going to use them as some excuse to go off on an angry rampage.

Yes, it's been a difficult road for him since Operation Daybreak; in fact, this is the only mission where I've seen him come back so screwed up. Infiltrating the militant group Gold Fire took courage, guts, and a hell of a lot of timing. Jack's lucky he got out with just a sprained ankle and broken jaw. Psychologically, though, he's been a lot warier of situations. For example, Tony and I used to be able to barge into his office without preamble or worry about Jack being pissed at us. If I did that now, he'd be out of the seat with the safety off of his Sig before I could say "protocol". I try my best, but he's just starting to get on my nerves.

Well, as much as is possible for a man who holds my heart so completely anyway.

Yes, his wife didn't understand his devotion to the job; a lot of people who work for the government go through that, though. Once boyfriends realized the hours I worked and my unwillingness to sacrifice them, they became ex-boyfriends pretty fast.

I understand that it bothers him, but when you're doing something for your country, you continue to put it on the line, because you're devoted to what you do. I know he feels that way, but he's acting like it's out of his control.

As for the fact of his wife being a bitch and unceremoniously kicking his ass out of the house? Well, I'm not going to argue with the fact that it sucks. Still, he needs to understand that he can't just take everything out on the people around him, the ones who care about him. Ones like me.

"Yes, Jack," I say, returning to the present reality of the road in front of me and Jack on my right-hand side. "There is significance to the fact that you're using this tone with me. When you talk to Chappelle, you're basically telling him that he's blatantly wrong and to leave you alone to do whatever the hell you're doing… while simultaneously flipping him off. I don't enjoy being talked to like that, Jack."

"Why are you bringing this up?" he asks as I make another turn.

I pause as I select the Classic Rock station from the list. As a Police song comes wafting through the speakers, I tap my fingers to the rhythm while thinking carefully of my next response.

I sigh and take a deep breath. "Jack, you may be my boss, but you are also my friend."

Okay, major understatement on the declaration there. Real smooth, Nina, reiterating exactly what kind of relationship you currently have with Jack; obviously, because of this, things are going to change, right around the time that pigs start flying around my apartment building.

"I care about you enough to say something," I continue, "and I don't want to find out that something bad happens because you freak out in the heat of the moment."

My voice cracks towards the end of my lovely little anecdote, and I stare ahead at the road, hoping that my cheeks don't look nearly as red as they feel. From the corner of my eye, I can see Jack staring intently at me, trying to figure out what exactly is going on in my head.

_Keep your eyes on the road, Nina,_ I think to myself. _Keep your eyes on the road, and everything will be fine. Jack won't notice that you're starting to crack, and he won't notice _why_ you're starting to crack. Just listen to the music, Nina, and keep your eyes on the road, and this will all work out. He'll shoot you down, but it'll all be okay, because you are strong._

What is this crap spilling out of my brain? This is far from helping me; I bet it's working up to giving me a panic attack.

Ah, hell. Might as well see what's going on with him so he doesn't get suspicious, even if it goes against all my natural instincts.

Then again, everything about Jack goes against my natural instincts. In that light, this really shouldn't be that shocking or unpredictable.

What comes out of Jack's mouth, though, is the single most unexpected line in all of the time that I've known him.

"Thank you," he says _sotto voce_. "Thanks, Nina, for doing all of this for me. You didn't have to. I dragged you away from your work."

Is he really going to blame himself for this mess? I thought he'd left his martyr complex back in his office.

What I'm going to say next will take a lot of courage. "I know I didn't have to, Jack," I reply, my voice nearly as low as his. "Believe me, I wanted to help you."

He looks into my eyes intently, and I wonder just how much he's realized. I really hope that he doesn't know the extent of my feelings for him; that would be completely awkward and inappropriate, along with the wrong time and the wrong place. My eyes begin to water, and I turn away from him, wiping my right eye.

"Damn contact lenses," I mutter under my breath, hoping he doesn't remember that I had LASIK surgery to correct my vision not two years ago.

Jack looks at me skeptically, a question brewing in his blue-gray eyes. He's called my bluff; of _course_ he remembered the surgery.

"I turn left on Taylor Drive, right?" I ask him quickly.

He nods his head, and I turn onto the street and into the garage of the apartment complex he's directed me to. The music on the radio, if not a comfort, is a welcome distraction from the current situation. I pull into a parking spot that's as close to the door as possible, which will lower the risk of Jack doing anything too crazy.

I turn off the ignition and step out of the car. Jack gets around, and he walks over to my side. His hand lies outstretched; obviously, someone's expecting back his property.

"Not a chance, Jack," I taunt halfheartedly. "You're a flight risk. You're not so much as seeing your keys again until you're relaxing in your apartment."

"How do you know that I won't do something drastic after you leave?" he asks.

"I don't know," I answer truthfully. "I really don't. But I trust you, Jack."

Suddenly, the air feels thick, and I can barely breathe. Apparently, Jack's going through the same thing; it's so quiet in this parking garage that you could hear a pin drop. I wonder if he'll make a move.

_Come _on_, Jack!_ I scream. _Just shut up and kiss me, Jack._

I briefly wonder if Jack's a mind reader. Somehow, that wouldn't surprise me; this is, after all, Agent Bauer we're talking about. It's not like Jamey – she's nice, I suppose, but the new programmer seems kind of oblivious to everything going on around her. Jack's the opposite – he takes everything in, makes sense of it, and uses it to his advantage. Which means he probably knows just how much I want him to invite me in to his apartment. To hell with professionalism at this point; I want him, really and truly.

Jack, of course, being the brave one, is the one to break the awkward silence. "Let's go," he says gruffly.

I don't have any complaints about that, so I follow him into one of the two elevators in the apartment building. As he presses the button for the fourth floor and the doors shut, we stand in silence. Still, I sneak over a few glances at him on the way up, and I catch him doing the same thing to me.

As we arrive on the twelfth floor, he leads me down the hallway and makes a right. We stop outside of apartment 1232.

"Nina, give me the keys," he says.

I shake my head and take out said keys. "We're doing this my way, Jack. Remember?" I remind him. "I'm in charge until further notice."

"Why?" he growls. "You've driven me home; you got me up the elevator successfully; you've seen me to my own apartment. Nina, what the hell is the point of this?"

It's really hard to answer him when he's so close to me. I can feel his breath on the skin of my neck, and it's not hard for me to imagine what could happen if he would just let his guard down.

Feeling unusually fearless, I place my hands on his face and bring his lips to brush mine. He tastes like a mix of dark chocolate, almond, and black coffee. It's so effortlessly Jack, and it's so perfect. He wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me in closer as I run my fingers through his hair. He delves deeper into the kiss, and my heart starts to push out of my chest. I don't give a damn about the fact that we're outside his apartment. Jack's here, he's finally kissing me, and he's _really good._

Suddenly, he lets go of my waist and pulls away. "Nina," he whispers quietly but tenderly. I wonder if it's supposed to be a preamble, a prayer, or an expletive.

"Jack," I reply in the same tone. I watch him as he looks around, almost skittishly. Maybe he's regretting what he just did. I would, too, if I were him.

"Get some rest, Jack," I say, walking away. "I have a feeling that this'll be slightly better once you have six or seven hours of sleep under your belt."

"Nina!"

I turn around and toss his keys back to him. "There are the damn keys," I shout. "Enjoy yourself!"

"Nina! Nina!"

I walk to the elevator, tears streaming down my cheeks. I hear Jack shout his signature "Damn it!" as I jab the button impatiently and step into the elevator.

Minutes later, when I'm on the road, red rims located conveniently around my eyes, I wonder just how much he regrets… and how the hell I'm going to be able to survive the humiliation at work tomorrow.

A/N: I'm evil, aren't I? What will happen at work the next day? Hmmm...review, and maybe you'll find out.


	3. Moving Forward

_Chapter 3_

I'm sitting at my desk, impatiently searching for an access code that CTU needs desperately. This security code has been avoiding me all morning, and I'll be damned if I don't find it. Besides, looking for it gives me a chance to avoid thinking about last night. If I think about it too much, I think my brain will implode from realizing just how screwed the rest of my career is. After all, there's no way in hell I can get a promotion in the years to come if my direct superior cuts off all contact with me.

Oh, yeah, that's right. Jack and I aren't on speaking terms. Well, to put it correctly, _I'm_ not on speaking terms with _him_. It'd be too awkward to say something to him, so I've isolated myself at my workstation, making sure to dump all his attempted calls on Tony.

As I finish up the last of my lunch, I sigh grumpily. Could this day get any worse?

Oh, damn it. I've always had a problem with jinxing things.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Tony walking quickly and purposefully across the bullpen. He's got the kind of look in his eye that lets me know I probably shouldn't mess with him, avoid him, or shut him down, much like I usually do.

"Nina," he says by way of greeting as he sits on the edge of my desk.

"_Tony_," I say, more pissed off than ever. "What can I do for you, Mr. Almeida?"

"Well, _Ms. Myers_," he replies, surprised at my bitchy tone, "You can tell me what's eating you."

"What do you mean?" I ask, clenching my jaw as desperately try to tame my dark, wavy hair.

"You've been out of it all morning, Nina," he says. "You've been doing God-knows-what, and I doubt that whatever you're doing is so productive. You're eating a double cheeseburger, so I'm assuming that your need for red meat in the middle of a Wednesday morning isn't just because you like the taste. And you've been forwarding all the calls Jack's made to you to my workstation. He's going to notice that you're avoiding him."

"I'm not avoiding him," I say. I turn away from him towards the monitor and continue to swim through file after file, looking for that damned code. I finally find it, and when I look back two minutes later, my dark-haired friend still hasn't left my desk.

"Tony, get back to work," I say harshly.

"You're going to tell me why you're avoiding Jack," Tony says in an assertive voice. "If you can't work with a clear head, I'm going to have to report you to Jack, Mason… maybe even Chappelle."

"You'd call the District Director in because I'm having _one_ bad day?"

He shrugs. "Nina, what's so bad that you can't just tell me why you're so pissed?"

Oh, there are multiple reasons for that, but it's not as if I'm going to just pour out my heart to Tony. He's ambitious, too, and since that wisecrack I made last night about his interoffice relationship, I can see in his eyes that he won't hesitate to use my weaknesses against me. I wouldn't be at all surprised if he tried to get my position, and later on, bump Jack out of the Director's chair.

So, naturally, I'm going to have him plop down, and I'll tell him all about how I not-so-chastely kissed my boss last night outside of his new apartment. He kissed me back, too. He was really good, although I don't think that's too hard to believe. And, by the way, he just separated from his wife two nights ago. Yeah, I'm _definitely_ going to tell him that one, because having a nice, stable job within the Department of Defense was just too _boring_ for me. I'd much rather work in a dead-end job for $30,000 a year, having had my ass fired because of poor judgment (and the fact that CTU domestic units, Division, and District all heavily frown on dating coworkers).

"Nina!"

"_What_, Tony?"

As I snap back to attention, my subordinate looks at me, scrutinizing over multiple details in his head. The wheels are turning about something – I'm just not sure what. Unfortunately, my phone rings, leaving me no extra time for speculation. I look at the caller ID, and when a certain last name shows up, I outwardly groan.

"It's Jack," I say emotionlessly, twirling a stray curl of hair around my right forefinger.

"Pick up the phone, Nina," Tony says, exasperated.

Needless to say, I let the phone ring a few times, just to piss off the third-in-command.

"Damn it, Nina," he hisses. "After yesterday, I'd think you wouldn't want to piss off Jack any more than he's already made himself. _Now_ look at you. He's your boss, he obviously needs your help with something, and you're avoiding him just for the hell of it?"

Well, when you put it in those terms, I _do_ sound kind of bitchy and emotionally unstable – normally qualities I prefer to attribute to Jack's wife. Not in the mood to have any similarities with her for the time being, I finally answer my phone.

"Hey," I say calmly.

"Nina," he says angrily, "I needed that access code two hours ago."

Oh, great. Just another day at the office, I suppose.

"I know, Jack," I say, starting to raise my voice. "It's been taking longer than I anticipated – someone must have placed it in the wrong file, and I've been on a wild goose chase trying to find the damned thing. I'm _so_ sorry that my hardest work isn't up to your standards."

Beside me, Tony raises his eyebrows. I'm not shocked; I don't think I've ever talked to Jack this way in front of other people. When it's just the two of us, however, it's a different story, just like most of our relationship.

_No, Nina,_ I chide myself. _You are completely prohibited from thinking about last night, even though it's the only thing on your mind._

After a rough, awkward pause, with both Jack and I breathing heavily from the tension (as I assume it's not adrenaline for him like it is for me), he says, "Nina, up to my office, now. Bring the access code."

"That an order, Jack?" I ask bitterly.

"Does it need to be?" he fires back, just as fed up.

"I'll be right up," I say, and for the first time in my career, I'm the one to hang up abruptly on our conversation. I print out the access code and start to walk up the clear, modern stairs to Jack's office. As I pass by Tony, I say, "Get back to work, Almeida. That's an order."

As he shoves past me, I continue to walk up the stairs. I'm finding it more and more difficult to compose myself when it comes to Jack, and it's starting to get on my nerves, especially considering how he must be feeling about last night. I was completely inappropriate, and now, I'll have to pay the price.

As I come up to his office, I knock three times on the glass door, trying to pretend like everything is business as usual. In my mind, however, I'm a quivering mess, ready to beg on my knees for my job and my friendship with him.

Jack absentmindedly looks up from his computer, reading glasses slightly askew. When he recognizes me, he stiffens slightly, stands up, and walks to the door.

As he opens the door for me (how gentleman-like), I quickly brush past him and sit in my usual spot on his well-loved couch. In a move bizarre for the man who loves his desk chair, Jack sits next to me. The additional heat makes the adrenaline pump through my body frantically as I attempt to maintain the calm demeanor I always manage to have at work. Hands shaking almost unnoticeably, I hand the access code over to him silently, painstakingly avoiding the pity that must be in his eyes.

"You've been avoiding me," he says quietly.

I start to compose an intelligent response in my head, but my mouth starts to move of its own volition. "What makes you think _that,_ Jack?" I reply, an edge of hysteria creeping into my voice.

There's another elephant in the room, only this time, it threatens to take away the one person I care about most. Unfortunately, there's nothing I can do about it.

Suddenly, I feel his arms wrap around my small waist as he pulls me in for a strong embrace. Puzzled, I resist.

A look of realization suddenly crosses his face, and his face becomes solemn. "You think that I regret what happened last night, don't you?"

Oh, my God.

I can feel my cheeks start to burn under his intense gaze, and I know he notices my change in complexion. This can't be happening. I must be dreaming. _Aren't I?_

"So you _don't_ regret it?" I ask, my voice barely a whisper.

He leans closer and, his lips dangerously close to my ear, breathes, "No I don't."

I lean into him slightly, unsure as to how to continue. I rest my head gently on his shoulder, starting to feel a little overwhelmed. Instead of shying away from this act of affection, as I've been expecting him to do, he lays his right arm around my shoulders and pulls me in, giving me a quick kiss on the top of my head.

"So what happens now?" I ask softly. "You always seem to have the answers, Jack. What do we do now?"

He sighs and locks eye contact with me. "I don't know," he replies honestly. "I want to do this right, though. Everything just feels so crazy right now. I need to get settled into this, figure out how to adjust. Would you understand if I said I needed a little time?"

That's the million-dollar question right there. If this is out of respect of Teri, then hell no; I don't really care what she thinks of me, especially if doing so will somehow interfere with my happiness. The thing is, though, I'm starting to think that maybe Jack really _does_ need time for everything to register.

"Whatever you need," I say tenderly. I brush my lips softly against his cheek, then stand up. "Just let me know."

He takes my small, bony hand in his large, sturdy one and interlocks our fingers, giving a quick squeeze. As I look into his light eyes, he says, in the softest tone I have ever heard, "Thank you."

I reach the door of his office. Just before I pull on the steel handle, I turn around. "Thank you," I reply back, smiling.

I walk back down the stairs and to my desk, starting to catch up on the work that's accumulated for the last ten or fifteen minutes. What happened up in Jack's office may not have been much, but it did mean a lot to me. It feels like some of the weight has been lifted off my chest, and now, it feels like my day might turn out to be halfway decent, after all.

A/N: Did you like it? Was it a little OOC? Let me know what you think!


	4. The First Bedside Visit

A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates! For a while, my muse was leading me in a very fluffy, OOC direction. I decided to fix it and, for this chapter, add a little hurt/comfort. Hope you like it!

_Chapter 4_

I lean back and close my eyes, absolutely exhausted. As I sag against my chair and prop my feet up on my desk, I try desperately to ignore the pain starting to pulsate through my head. Although I've experienced this type of pain before, the headaches have never, and I mean _never_, been this bad.

_It wouldn't hurt to do some deep breathing_, I think to myself. Maybe it'll relax me enough to the point where the pain will start to subside. After all, there's a chance it could work – these episodes are much less predictable than I am.

_Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out._

I draw a blank in my mind, slowly and methodically emptying it of all thoughts that could possibly be contributing to this disaster. I forget about the latest incident report I have to write up concerning Lisa Tyler's multiple counts of sexual harassment towards Tony Almeida. I rid my mind of anything where George Mason is concerned; I swear, that man is giving me more stress and proverbial gray hairs than this job and aging ever will. I selectively eliminate my itchiness to get back into the field; if I need to be placed back in the field, I will, and it's out of my control, so I shouldn't be thinking about it with so much energy. Last, but certainly not least, I let go of any and every thought concerning Jack Bauer.

I'm not normally one to stress over dating, much less any social interaction; what happens (or rather, what _doesn't_ happen, considering the type of job I'm in) with my social and sex life is generally something I leave up in the air.

Of course, my mom isn't happy about that: I'm thirty years old, and Estela Flores-Myers just can't accept the fact that I'm probably never going to be one of those women who has a steady job _and_ a nice house _and_ a loving husband _and_ a family of my own. Whether that's because of circumstances out of my control or in my own hands is largely up for speculation.

I can't help but think about Jack when I think of the arguments I have with my mother about this. It's been a week since all the craziness concerning Teri, Kim, and our sexual tension ensued. Ever since that rather unprofessional conversation we had in his office, where we basically declared our feelings to each other, we've been nothing but normal colleagues. And it's driving me insane. He told me he needed time to get settled before he'd act on his feelings. But from the way he's been acting at work, the man is becoming well-adjusted to the single (well, not married) life.

So what's going on with him? What's stopping him from acting on the feelings between us that are so obvious that the betting pools have become even more popular than they were while he and Teri were married? Why is it always _me_ that has to be the one to react, to initiate, to figure out what's going on inside his head? Can't he do anything for himself when it comes to dating, or whatever the hell this thing is?

Ack. My head starts to pound even more, evidence to the fact that I really _suck_ at clearing my mind of stress. My eyes flutter open of their own accord as a fresh wave of pain comes over me, and I groan in discomfort as bright light enters my eyes, nearly blinding me.

After a few seconds, my tired eyes manage to focus my vision onto two moving objects moving ever closer to my work station. One is lankier and dark-haired; the other is short, muscular, and blonde. As I realize just who these two men are, I can't help but wonder: why are Tony and Jack walking over here? Did one of the security protocols I installed this morning decide to go haywire on me?

"Jack. Tony," I say at a low level, acknowledging them but trying to keep the pain at a lower intensity for as long as possible.

"Nina, I need you to come up to my office with me, now," Jack says.

I cringe and stand up, trying to flatten my now messy, poofy hair in an attempt to look much more put-together than I feel. Teetering a little on the small heels of my shoes, I walk around the metal grate of my desk slowly and carefully, making sure I don't do anything that could potentially make this damn thing any worse.

"You okay?" Tony asks me as I take my place at Jack's right-hand side.

"Fine," I say dismissively. It's a lie, though. One thing I've learned through interrogations at CTU is that everyone, no matter what, has a breaking point; a person's threshold and tolerance of pain can only last for so long. The pain of this headache has nearly reached my breaking point, and I'm sure it won't be long until I need to go back to my desk and try to relax, maybe take some Tylenol or Aspirin to alleviate a portion of the pain. Much like professional relationships, at this moment, I damn all protocol; I need to sit down, soon, rather than later.

Okay, more like _now._

I place a hand gently on the firm muscle of Jack's arm, an attempt to get his attention. He looks at me, worry clouding and darkening the brightness of his eyes.

"Jack, I…" I cut off when I realize that something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. I can't _see_ anything; the cold, gray, metallic surfaces of the modern CTU have been replaced by swirls of bright colors, overwhelming my sight. I wait for the feeling of dizziness that comes with it to pass, but it stays, just like every other symptom. I try to move around, to get back to my desk, anything of that sort, but my tiny legs feel like tree stumps; frozen and immobilized, unable to bend or even sway.

"Jack, something's wrong!" I whisper. Or at least I think I'm whispering; I can't really tell. My voice sounds so far away that I don't know if he's having trouble hearing me, what with me talking softer than I breathe, or whether he's shattering an eardrum on the receiving end of a bloodcurdling scream. I vaguely feel myself moving, although I don't know in what direction.

"Damn it!" I hear a voice say, sounding so far away I cannot recognize the speaker. "Someone get Medical…" Then, everything quickly fades to black.

Almost as soon as I come to, I begin to wish that I could still be unconscious. I'm in a cot lined with white sheets in the all-too-familiar medical wing, and my head still hurts like hell, although the throbbing seems to have abated for the time being. Everything is still too much for my senses to take in.

"Nina," I hear someone say softly. I look up slowly and see one of the medical professionals standing next to my bed, with Jack off to the side.

"Jack?" I whisper, confused.

"I'll let you talk to her," the doctor says to him. Then, he leaves the room quickly, shutting the glass door behind us.

Silence.

"I'm fine, Jack," I say, answering the inevitable, unspoken question that I know is coming.

"No, you're not," he says. He gently cups his hand around the back of my head and holds it there. When, only a few seconds later, he lets go, his fingers come away with blood.

"Damn it," he curses. Then, he clicks the pager by my bed. "Dr. Evans, could you please come up here? Her stitches reopened."

_Stitches?_

"Stitches?" I mouth to him.

"So they're not coming out; it's just dried blood. Okay, thanks," he says, responding to the doctor. Then, he looks at me kind of oddly… the look he usually reserves for Teri. He sits next to my bedside as I adjust the pillows so that I'm fully upright; I want to hear from him why I have stitches in the first place.

"What happened?" I ask him.

He sighs. "You fainted," he says. "Back up in the bullpen. Hit your head pretty hard on the floor on the way down. Doctor said that it was a severe migraine." His eyes brim with concern as he takes my hand.

I draw away, miffed. "God, Jack, you can stop with the concerned look," I say, annoyed. "I'm not terminally ill; you don't need to treat me like a glass decanter. I'm strong."

"I know," he says, shaking his head, "but…"

I look at him expectantly, waiting for an add-on to the vagueness, but none comes.

"But?" I prompt.

He looks into my eyes tenderly. "You got hurt under my watch," he says in a low voice.

"And you blame yourself," I finish in disbelief. I raise my eyebrows. "Jack, that was all me. I screwed up; I should have taken the pain medication long before you asked me to come up to your office."

"Damn it, Nina. I couldn't have done anything different?" he asks, sounding pained.

"No," I say softly. "You couldn't. There are some things that you need to learn to let go of, Jack. You can't do everything, and you're not responsible for my screw ups, so get over yourself on that one."

I wrap my arms around his torso, wincing a little as my head starts to pound again. I lay my chin behind his shoulder and settle into his arms comfortably. It's a nice feeling; we both have to deal with all kinds of crap, but for now, it's just the two of us, which is just the way I've wanted it to be.

Behind us, someone clears his voice. Jack slides me gently back onto the cot, and I realize that this must be the Dr. Evans that he paged.

"Hello, Nina," he says politely. "I'm Dr. Evans. I've been taking care of you for the last few hours. Let me just finish you up here, and I'll send you on your way. You hit your head, and we're not quite sure if you have a concussion, so we'll need someone to make sure you get home safely and to stay with you tonight."

"It's already taken care of, Phil," Jack says to him, "thanks."

What is he doing? He is _not_ coming to my apartment; things would only go downhill from there. If I want to keep things under wraps, under control, I need to kick him where it hurts, so to speak.

Dr. Evans looks over a couple more things on his sheet and says, "Okay, then. You're good to go. Your pain medication is on your desk; you can just stop and pick that up before you head out."

"Fine," Jack says dismissively.

As Dr. Evans exits the room, I beckon to Jack to come closer. He leans forward inquisitively, and I whisper into his ear, "Don't do this because you feel guilty, Jack. I have friends in the area; I'll be fine."

He doesn't back away, and instead responds in a low voice, "I am _not_ going to leave you to fend for yourself. Whether or not you believe it doesn't matter; the fact is, I _want_ to help you."

I don't say anything; I can't, really. What are you supposed to say to a man who has been acting very out of character when he's obviously telling the truth?

"Please, let me help you," he repeats.

Questions burn in his eyes, and I can't deny his request. I sit up slowly and look him square in the eye.

"Okay," I whisper. "We did this my way last week, we'll do it yours this week. Like a running tab."

With a little help from Jack, I stand up, and we slowly walk out of the medical wing and into the nearly empty bullpen. Jack walks over to my desk and grabs a small gray container, one which I assume holds pain medication. He looks at me, and I nod. He walks over and places his strong but soft hand on the small of my back, escorting me through the bullpen. With anyone else, like George Mason, I would think this to be chauvinistic, but it's not; it's chivalrous. In other words, it's Jack being Jack.

As we walk past security and enter the parking garage, I make a promise to myself that tonight, I will say something to him. I will make a declaration. I will begin to move things forward so that, hopefully, I can go on a date with him before I turn eighty.

A/N: Two things. One, doesn't Nina just seem like the type of person to get a migraine? Two, Jack's going to be in Nina's apartment. How do you think that will go?

Please review, and let me know how I did!


	5. The First and Unexpected Night

A/N: This chapter has to be a little OOC for what I've planned, so please humor me.

I have a contest: See who can spot the Princess Bride reference! Let me know in the review if you find it.

Warning; it may (or may not, depending on who you are) get a little…hinky. Let me know how I did on this scene; too much?

Oh, just read!

_Chapter 5_

The ride to my apartment is not the most relaxing one I've ever experienced, for a multitude of reasons. First of all, I'm curled up in a ball on my seat, feeling nauseous, experiencing the aftereffects of the Killer Migraine From Hell. Second, I've given someone else the keys to my dark green Toyota, and while said person is driving well, I am still very, _very_ possessive about my car. Third, said person driving my car is Jack Bauer.

_At least I'm not a terrorist in a car with Jack Bauer,_ I think to myself. _At least I know I don't have to fear for my life when I'm around him. At least I know we trust each other._

Okay, maybe if you wanted to get all technical, the first one isn't exactly true. When you spend a certain portion of your work hours selling information to terrorists, you become associated with them. But 1) I need the money, as I'm starting to dwindle on a supply of money for things like a house and _car insurance_, 2) I haven't actually sold anything or given anyone any information whatsoever since that deal I made with Joseph Wald over two months ago, 3) Jack doesn't suspect anything, and 4) I would choose his safety over my "night job". Guaranteed.

The last two are true, though. Chappelle and Mason are bureaucrats that want everything done by the book, and Tony Almeida seems to be consciously following in their haughty footsteps. Meanwhile, his own wife can't even appreciate the seriousness of the career he has, can't even begin to fathom the things he's sacrificed for his country, so that he could come home to her and Kim. Right now, I'm the only one Jack has in his corner. Mole or not, terrorist or not, Jack has me, completely.

I cringe as a smaller wave of pain rides through my head, yelping quietly.

Jack looks over, concerned. "We'll be there in five, Nina," he says.

"I'm _fine_, Jack," I reply. The man doesn't need to be so concerned over me, after all.

Softly, he repeats his words from before. "We'll be there in five minutes."

"Jack?"

"What?" he asks, frustrated.

"Look, this is very nice of you," I say, "but I'm still not sure why you're doing this."

An awkward silence permeates every inch of the car as Jack fixates his eyes on the road and on the driver in front of him.

"Let me rephrase the question," I say forcefully. "_Why_ are you doing this?"

He huffs in frustration as the car continues to hum along. "I think you know why, and I don't think we have to rehash it over and over again," he replies harshly.

Uh, wow. _Ouch_.

Whatever happened to, "No, Nina, I don't regret passionately making out with you outside my new apartment, when I'd only been separated from my wife for little more than twenty four hours?" Whatever happened to the more tender side of Jack that I've started to see emerge over the past week? Why do I have the "irony" curse stuck onto me like a label; why must I think about very serious, pressing, relevant issues while continuing to have a pounding headache?

Wow. Who said anything about government analysts never bringing their job home?

"How's your head feeling?" Jack asks out of the blue.

"Does it really matter, Jack?" I reply.

He looks at me skeptically; he's good at sensing bluffs and lies when they're used.

"Fine," I say, resigned. "It hurts like hell. What good will it do to complain about it?"

As we pull into the parking garage of my apartment complex, the car feels awkward once again. The seats radiate with things unsaid and thoughts that haven't been declared. _What is it with me, Jack, and awkward silences?_ I wonder.

Jack pulls my car into a parking space, making sure to keep it pristine, without any damage whatsoever. (He's aware of my attachment to my car.) He takes the keys out of the ignition, hands them to me (knowing that I would kill him otherwise), walks around the perimeter of the car, and helps me out of the car.

I give him a dubious look, one that asks, _What was _that _for?_

As expected, he ignores me, and the way up to my apartment is simply another awkward silence.

"Coffee?" I ask him as we enter my small but tidy apartment.

He looks at me skeptically. "Sit down, Nina," he says.

I smirk. "Are you going to _interrogate_ me, Jack?" I ask sarcastically.

"You have a migraine," he replies seriously. "You are in no shape to be playing hostess. _I'm_ making coffee," he says, and he walks into the kitchen, starting to take out various beans and kitchen utensils and placing them on the countertop of the island in the center. "You take it with two sugars?" he asks.

"You got it!" I reply, plopping down on the tall stool by the kitchen island. "Just the way I like it."

Oh, yes, this is.

How much homier could it get? Usually, I get home, order takeout, and fall asleep on the couch, either watching TV or still working on various reports from my job. Now, I'm coming home after a long, hard day of work, with Jack at my side, and he's making some semblance of a meal in my rarely-used kitchen. I feel a little pang in my chest when I think about all of this. The mushy, romantic side that I usually damn to the depths of hell starts to take over and wonders if I'll be able to create a life like this with Jack.

Once again, I throw the little girl-like part of my brain off of the Cliffs of Insanity, never again to return. I'll never survive in the real world if I continue to be the five-year-old Nina who thought that if she wished hard enough, she could get a pony for Christmas, just like she'd always wanted. I have to keep my head clear, I think to myself, and make sure that my mind doesn't become clouded just because I'm in my apartment, in the close proximity of a very smart, protective, and attractive man.

Jack accurately passes me a mug of hot, steaming coffee. I take a sip and nearly do a spit take.

"Jack…what the hell is this crap?" I ask, cringing at the bitter taste in my mouth.

He smirks. "Must have forgotten the sugar."

Yeah, right. I highly doubt that. I tell him as much, and I see a hint of a smile cross his face and vanish almost as quickly.

I walk over to the sink and dump out the contents of the mug, then plop the incriminating cup into the washing machine to be dealt with later.

"I can't believe you did that. Shock isn't good for my system," I say sarcastically.

"I helped you. That sugar is crap," he says defensively.

_Boom-boom, boom-boom_, goes my head. _Boom-boom, boom-boom._

Cringing a little, I take a single pill out of the bottle of painkillers and down it, along with a gulp of water. Jack looks at me, concerned, but I give him a look that tells him he shouldn't be. I lean back against the sink and close my eyes, just taking a moment to relax and let my nerves calm down.

Of course, said nerves become manic when Jack rests next to me, about a millimeter away from my body. As I take in his beautiful light eyes, soft lips, and strong body, I wonder if I'll be able to control myself for much longer… or if I'll be able to control myself at all.

I don't have to think about this, though. Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to, because my brain has turned into a pile of complete and utter mush. Jack leans down and sweeps his lips softly along mine. I shiver and return the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and running my fingers through his soft hair. All of the things that taste like Jack are with me once again, and I feel more relaxed than any painkiller would be able to make me.

Suddenly, the electricity running through both of us seems to increase the current, and I realize that I want more from this than he's given me so far. Evidently, he feels the same way, as, when I make eye contact with him, he wraps his arms around my waist and leads me toward my bedroom.

He closes the door and turns around. As he plants kisses on my jaw, I ask him, breathing heavily, "Are you going to regret this tomorrow morning? Let me know now."

His answer is evident as he pulls me into his arms, kisses me hard on the lips, and breathes a single word.

"No."


	6. The Morning After

**A/N: How _will_ they deal with the morning after?**

**Warning: this chapter has more coarse language than the others. It's one little word which I'm sure you've heard of, and it'll be done with quickly, but I thought you should know.**

_Chapter 6_

A ray of light splays across my eyes and continuously pesters me. Without warning, the brightness shakes me out of my dreamless slumber. My eyes pop wide open, and I groan as I realize just where the light came from. It's morning, and since I _do_ live in Los Angeles, it's nice and sunny, even for early December. Of course, last night I was too preoccupied to shut the damn blinds so that I wouldn't have to deal with light coming through my window and waking me up at the crack of freaking dawn.

Last night…what happened last night?

Oh, wait. I remember now.

As I become more oriented in my surroundings, I realize that my thin body is wrapped around and in the arms of a small but muscular man. We're both naked, and our bodies are covered by a thin sheet of sweat. His arms are wrapped tight around me, as though, even in sleep, he's unwilling to let me get away from him.

As if that's going to happen; this is my apartment, after all, and I'm not going to go anywhere. Plus, if I brought a guy home and slept with him, there's no way I'm going to let him go so easily.

I realize that my head is buried in his chest. For some reason, I can't place the body with a name right now. Either I got completely smashed last night, or my mind is really disoriented right now. I don't particularly recall drinking to excess, seeing as I had a killer migraine yesterday, so I'm betting on it being the latter. I look up, and even though it's blurry, the one thing I recognize is a pair of sharp, beautiful, and very familiar blue-green eyes.

_Oh. My. Fucking. God._

No pun intended with that one.

I can't believe that Jack and I slept together last night. It's honestly not a plausible idea. Jack said he need time. He takes things slow, if the conversations we've had are any verification. He wouldn't take advantage of me like that.

Unless he _didn't_ take advantage of me. Unless it was mutual.

Shit. It was mutual, I can feel it.

Silently and as carefully as possible, I swerve out of Jack's arms and grab his button-down shirt from last night, which lies in a heap at the foot of my bed. I unravel it and hastily put my arms through the sleeves. The button-down is huge, but it's a comfort to me. It smells like him, after all, and, right now, despite the fact that I have two demanding jobs, he's my number one priority.

As I slip quietly back into his arms, I feel him move around in the sheets. His eyes open, and as he realizes where he is, he kisses my forehead.

"Hey," he says quietly, in a fashion similar to the way he whispered my name after kissing me for the first time a week ago. "You alright?"

Yeah, I am alright. Better than alright, actually. Though I'd be even better if my brain hadn't decided to turn into a pile of mush and toss any coherent thoughts I've had out the proverbial window.

"Yeah," I say simply, kissing his lips quickly, again and again. Then I sit up slowly, and as Jack rewraps his arms around my shoulders, the buzzer on my alarm goes off.

As I move lethargically to my side of the bed to turn it off, I inwardly groan. Next to me, I hear a muttered "Damn it."

"Just because this happened doesn't mean we get to take a day off from work, Jack," I say (though I am disappointed that the world doesn't work that way).

He smiles. "Why not?" Then he pulls me into his arms, making this one of the rare occasions where I can't stop laughing.

_When did I revert back to my teenage years?_ I wonder to myself. _How on earth does Jack stand my ridiculous antics? Something has to give._

"Okay, Jack, this is ridiculous," I say. Since there's no way I'm going to have time for a shower this morning, I get up and starting to look through my closet for something clean to wear. I pull out a navy blue button-down shirt and a steel gray pencil skirt that I vaguely remember buying sometime last month. Then, it hits me: Jack's not going to be able to get out of the mess that we've created.

"Jack," I say, starting to realize just how much we screwed up our timing, "you can't just walk into CTU wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday."

"Damn it, Nina," he mutters. He starts to pat down the stray hairs sticking up on his head as he sits up in bed. "Well, what am I supposed to do, then?"

"I drive you to your apartment, you change, we go in to work," I reply, stating the obvious. When he gives me his patented Look Of Death, I get put on the defensive. "It's not as if we have any other choice, Jack," I say. "You knew you were staying for the night, because of the doctor's orders. Shouldn't you have brought a change of clothes anyway?"

"Are you going to keep arguing with me?" he asks as I take off his shirt and start putting on my own.

"Look, our best explanation for this is the truth, or at least part of it," I respond as I step into my skirt. "You stayed over because the doctors were worried that I might have a concussion and wanted someone to stay with me, and you weren't prepared to spend the night because it was on such short notice. It's not like that's a lie."

He stands up and pulls on yesterday's pants, zipping them up quickly. "Fine," he says, still slightly miffed about the aftermath of the whole thing. Despite everything he's said to me, despite his reassurances last night, I'm not sure how he feels about what we've done. How much does he regret it? A little? A lot? Not at all?

Damn. Will I ever be able to escape from these god-awful headaches?

I walk to the door of my bedroom and turn around, pausing to look at Jack. "Want me to make something quick?" I ask, trying to make up for being such a horrible hostess last night.

As he pulls on his now wrinkled button down, he shakes his head. "If last night was any evidence, you're still in no shape to be making anything. Plus, I looked around in your kitchen. You can have something at my apartment."

"What, you don't have faith in the cooking of the girl who orders takeout for the majority of her meals?" I tease.

With just a hint of a smile on his face, he rolls his eyes.

After he finishes buttoning his shirt, we walk through my apartment silently. I pack up my bag, making sure to toss in the bottle of pain medication, just in case I start to get plagued by another migraine. As we walk out, I lock the door behind me and simply relish the fact that the silence surrounding me and Jack is no longer awkward - it's comfortable.

**A/N: What do you think? Will this turn out decently for Jack and Nina, or will they be walking on eggshells around each other? Review and let me know!**


	7. The First Suspicious Coworker

July 5, 2010

**A/N: I apologize profusely for the lack of updates. July has been a difficult writing month in the Jack/Nina world. Just keep reading AND reviewing so that I know that my writing has an audience. (16 views for the last chapter and only 3 reviews? Can you guys please review if you're reading?)**

**Special thanks to Iwait4theRain for being a great unofficial beta and BFF, and to skycloud86 for all your helpful insight. :)**

**I'll shut up now. Enjoy the long chapter. You guys deserve it.**

Chapter 7

"Nice apartment, Jack," I say amiably as I follow him through the front door. It's definitely got what my mother would call an _interesting aesthetic_. (You tend to pick up this terminology when your mother has been running an architecture slash interior design business for the last twenty-five years.) What with the wood floors, the warm-colored furniture, and the simple, clean-cut lines, it looks like something straight out of a magazine.

Not like I'd ever tell Jack that if I wanted to live. He probably dug this out of the basement of his house, since there likely hasn't been much in the way of time for home shopping. I vaguely remember him mentioning that Teri's an interior designer.

Ugggh. Teri "I enjoy whining about everything" Bauer. What on earth has motivated me to think about _her_, one of the few banes of my existence, right now?

"Thanks," Jack replies, jerking me back to the present reality. He hangs up his coat and takes mine from around my shoulders, again being the Perfect Gentleman® that he always seems to act like around me. "I'll be right back," he says, and he walks across the length of his apartment into his bedroom. "Feel free to get something from the kitchen," he calls.

I move to sit on the couch and start to feel dizzy. _Great_. This is just what I needed, after all: a reincarnation of the Migraine From Hell… or worse. A part of me really hopes that this migraine didn't become a concussion. That'll mean more condescension from Mason and Chappelle, skepticism from Tony, and overprotective behavior from Jack. I love him, but when it comes to my well-being, he can be a little…well…over the top.

Suddenly, I raise my eyebrows. Did I just think to myself that I _love_ him? That can't be right. Okay, I've known him for four years and been his partner for as long. The sexual tension has surrounded us for over a year, but of course, there was Teri and Kim. So what is there now? We kissed outside his apartment, last week. And, sure, we slept together at my apartment last night, although a part of me is convinced that I couldn't have been sober during that; I'm not one of those girls that gets laid before the first date.

Still, Mamá has always been a big believer in soul mates, fate, true love, that kind of overproduced, over-marketed crap. She's always said to me, as recently as a few weeks ago, "Nina, _mi hija,_ when you find the man who is a perfect fit for you, you will know. Maybe you will have to work to get there, but you will not have to think through in your head to know that he is the one for you. Be careful, but follow your heart."

Humph. It begs the question, does that work in a situation like this?

Ack. Oh, shit.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and breathe in deeply. This damn headache always seems to act up whenever I start thinking too hard. Maybe Mamá has the right idea; if I start thinking too much, I'll probably end up having an aneurysm when I'm thirty five. Not the best idea I've ever had.

Well, much of what I've done in the past week (and _who_ I've done as well) probably hasn't qualified as the best idea I've ever had.

Speak of the devil; the door to Jack's bedroom opens, and he walks across the length of the apartment, clean shaven and looking as strong and capable as ever. As he walks over to where I'm sitting, his eyes brim full with worry.

"Nina, you look like hell," he says in a low voice.

"Gee, thanks, Jack," I snap, sneering just a little. "You know just how to compliment a girl."

He smiles grimly to himself and shakes his head. "Probably couldn't even walk over to the sink and pour herself a glass of water," he mutters. "Damn it."

Crap. Sometimes I really hate how he reads me so well. I wonder if he ever misses anything that happens around him.

"What was that, Jack?" I ask innocently.

"Nothing," he says with a straight face. "Want a glass of water?"

"Sure, Jack. That would be _wonderful_."

He walks over to the cabinets and takes out a glass. As he turns on the sink, I close my eyes and try to relax, immersing myself in the relaxing sound of the running water. I breathe in and out slowly and try, this time more successfully than the last, to clear my mind of any thoughts that could worsen my headache. In fact, this works so well that I don't even notice that Jack has sat down next to me until he unscrews the cap to my medication and places a pill in my hand. I open my eyes and let out a grumble.

"Take it," he says. When I shoot him a withering glare, his eyes soften. "Please."

My response is very mature; I roll my eyes dramatically and whisper oh-so-softly into his ear, "You. Can't. Make. Me."

He whispers back, his breath warm on my face, "Yes, I can. Unless, of course, you want me to recommend that you don't come in to work for the next couple of days."

No. That's not happening. I can't miss a day of work, for reasons more dangerous than Jack will ever be aware of. Realizing that I'm going to need to pick my battles over the next few days, I open my eyes, toss the pill onto my tongue, and gulp down about half the glass of water along with it. I watch Jack's face carefully as he raises his eyebrows.

"Come on, Jack," I reply, smiling, to his surprised face. "You didn't think I was going to let Tony take over everything for more than a few hours, did you? It wasn't worth it; what use am I if I'm sitting at home, doing nothing, instead of working at CTU?"

He sighs. "You know you're more than some government asset, Nina."

Wow. That's possibly one of the nicest things he's ever said to me. I give him a funny little half-grin and kiss him lightly on the lips. "Thank you."

After a moment of silence, I stand up, using Jack's shoulder for a little support, although I'm not nearly as wobbly on my feet as I was before. "You ready to go?" I ask him.

He seems kind of lost in his thoughts but snaps out of it long enough to mutter a quick "Yeah." He stands up, and he locks the door behind him as we leave the apartment.

"Tony, I need those protocols up and running _now_," I practically groan into the phone. "It's been four hours since I asked you to secure the Jarvis firewall. How long does it take to do that, five minutes? Two, if you actually know what the hell you're doing?"

My subordinate grunts unhappily on the other end, glaring at me from across the floor. "I stayed kinda late last night finishing things up before the night crew came, in case you didn't notice," he hisses. "Not that you and Jack seemed to notice _or_ care."

Tony usually doesn't ambush me outright; generally, I start it, and then he starts slinging mud at me in response.

"What are you talking about?" I ask, not missing a beat.

"You and Jack came into work together," he responds, suspicion saturating his every word. "What was _that_ about?"

"What are you implying?" I shoot back, my blood boiling. "The doctor didn't want me driving off alone; actually, he didn't want me staying in my apartment alone, either, just in case my little fall yesterday gave me a tiny little _concussion._ Jack stayed over, helped me with anything I needed."

"You have fun with him last night? You know, with him staying over at your apartment and all?"

Crap. Almeida is really starting to get on my nerves now. It's almost as if he thoroughly enjoys making allusions to my feelings for Jack (and technically, he can't even verify that those feelings actually exist). Time to get him off my back, once and for all.

"Tony, I was barely functional enough to walk to my counter and get a glass of water for my pain medication," I spit. "You really think I had the energy… or the audacity… or the sheer _stupidity_… to sleep with my boss? And need I remind you about your little breach of conduct? Lisa's been itching for me to report you to Division."

As the stream of words flows out of my mouth and into the receiver, I realize how easy it is to bullshit through your teeth if you hate a person enough. Then, I hang up on the annoying bastard on the phone with me and open a blank document. Since I have pretty much nothing to do, I spend the next hour amusing myself and fulfilling my wildest dreams by putting together a request for Division to transfer Tony out of the office, preferably to one of CTU's various locations in the Midwest or Alaska. I'll no longer have to deal with this pain in the ass, and he'll pretty much be doing paperwork all day; from what I've come across on the usual channels, no one cares enough about Indianapolis to plant a nuke, biological virus, or the like. (Trust me on that one.)

Unfortunately, my morning is thoroughly ruined when Tony storms across the bullpen and situates his sorry ass on the edge of my desk, clearly not finished with our conversation.

"Look," he argues in a low voice. "Try to take a look at the facts from my point of view. So yesterday, Jack and I walk up to you, and he needs help with something that's relatively insignificant, something that I or Jamey could have easily done. Even in the midst of an obviously painful migraine, you're so determined to help him that you practically kill yourself in the middle of the floor. Then, he pushes all your work on me and plants himself in Medical for two hours…"

Okay, what?

"Excuse me?"

"Huh," he says, raising his eyebrows. "Jack didn't tell you? He gave me your work, in addition to my own, and brought his laptop to the waiting area outside the medical wing. According to the doctor, he refused to come back to the floor until you were conscious. Then, of course, as soon as you're awake, he leaves with you, and the two of you get in your car…and he never comes back for his. What am I supposed to believe, your story or the evidence that screams 'unprofessional relationship'?"

My mouth has dropped so far open, me still being shocked that Jack discarded professional protocol with no problem, that I wouldn't be surprised if a bug decided to situate itself on my tongue and start a little insect colony.

"Jack did this," I say in disbelief, attempting to compose myself. "Jack sat outside of Medical and waited for his partner to come out. You do know that sounds like a whole lot of crap, right? Jack's abandoned partners if they were down and he couldn't do anything, if it meant completing the mission. You were a Marine, Tony; does this sound like something any military veteran would do?"

He sighs, muttering, "Yes, it does, if the veteran cared enough about his teammate to disregard everything else around him."

I noticeably roll my eyes and battle the strong urge I have to chuck my stapler and scar his pretty little face. "Goodbye, Tony," I practically seethe. "Get back to work, _now._"

He stares at me with a funny look on his face and shakes his head. "Keep deluding yourself into thinking this is a good idea," he says quietly, looking me straight in the eye. "Once you realize that you're in over your head, you'll realize it was a bad idea all along."

"What was a bad idea, Tony?" I ask, pretending to be clueless.

Exasperated, he stands up and stalks over to his desk. As he sits across from Jamey, she shoots me a questioning look. "Everything's fine," I mouth to her, although that's definitely a blatant lie. Tony's little rant was based on nothing more than a simmering suspicion, but if Jack and I continue to screw up, even by accident, he'll pick up on that. Then, I can say goodbye to any lucrative government job… and whatever the hell is going on with Jack when we're _off_ the job.

**A/N: I love Tony Almeida, I really do. He just seems to have a habit of messing up my J/N shipper dreams, so I ragged on him a little in this one. Read and review, please, so I know you're enjoying the story!**


	8. Special Author's NoteslashApology

Author's Note

I'm sorry for not having updated this in two weeks. I am a very, very, very bad person. I'm going to be away for the next three, but I do plan on finishing this story once I sit down and start to plan this out. I do have one question- I could either continue this multific with everything in Jack and Nina's relationship, or I could chronicle the start of their relationship with one story, random drabbles from the middle and the Santa Barbara weekend in another, and the end of their affair in a third. Let me know what you think! (I'll be able to access my email).

In the meantime, feel free to send me a PM or check out any of my other stories. If you're patient, I'll have some goodies for you in a few weeks. As always, please review. Constructive criticism = love.

Love you guys, and thank you for everything!

-Rachel


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